Page 91 of Silver Fox Puck

The ice has always been the one place where I can clear my head.

Even before I started coaching, even before my entire life became a juggling act of schedules, contracts, and custody battles—this was my reset button.

Just me, my skates, and the kind of quiet that doesn’t ask for anything.

I skate the length of the rink, pushing off hard, feeling the burn in my legs, the sharp bite of cold air against my face.

But it doesn’t work tonight.

Not when my brain is still replaying the way Kenzie looked at me before she walked out.

Not when my gut is telling me that I might have just lost her for good.

I exhale hard, slowing my pace, dragging a hand through my hair.

It’s fine.

I knew what this was from the start.

I knew she wasn’t built for permanence, that the second things got complicated, she’d run.

I knew—

Then, the door opens.

And somehow, I already know it’s her.

I don’t turn around right away. I could. But I make her wait.

Because if she’s here to end this, to tell me she made a mistake, that we were never meant to be anything more than a one-night distraction—I’m not going to make it easy for her.

I won’t chase her.

Not anymore.

So I keep my back to her, skating one more slow lap around the rink.

Testing her patience.

Testing myself.

Then I stop.

Turn.

And our eyes meet.

She’s standing just inside the rink, arms wrapped around herself, like she’s still deciding whether she belongs here.

The answer should be obvious.

But I don’t say that. I don’t say anything. I just watch her, waiting for her to make the first move.

She takes a step forward. Then stops.

Her arms tighten around herself, hands clenched in her sleeves like she’s holding herself together. Like she’s still deciding if she belongs here.

I should move.

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